


Potions and Reverie

by Eonnie



Series: Domestic Sub!BTS [4]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Avoidance and Depression, F/M, Femdom, Hurt and comfort, Impregnation Kink, Infertility/Impotence Issues, Neglect, Punishment, Sexual Ownership, Slapping and Choking, Smut, Spanking, Sub!jimin, dom!reader, domestic AU, sexual healing, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonnie/pseuds/Eonnie
Summary: A fortunate letter gives you all the reasons to fuck your husband Jimin's brains out.





	Potions and Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> The start's a bit heavy but it gets progressively better. And you know what I mean by that.

Red pines creak and bend outside. Last time you checked, the alley had been deserted with no car or person in sight. Jimin’s not home yet, you’re waiting. 

He promised to be back around eight or so, now it’s nine with little sunlight left. Just heavy, mourning clouds. Endless rain comes gushing down with thunder’s angry boom from the distance. It must be hell in the mountains. Seoul is so unkind these days. 

Unkind, and too humid. The current festival in Itaewon is as good as spoiled, the poor people. No text message gets a fast reply like it normally would, your phone just falls abnormally silent. There’s no point in trying again and again.

The storm keeps raging and whirring between the pines, leaving much debris and puddles on the street. You’re giving up on ordering pizza for tonight, the microwave will do. The fridge is entirely raided, so you take the small wooden steps down to the icy-cold cellar. A few convenience foods are still left in the freezer, but your tormented stomach feels like ramen is the better alternative. There are two packages left, you pick the spicier, stronger one. 

You’re glad to be fast with warming it up because electricity shuts down at roughly half past, leaving you with candles and “goodbye TV” on the couch. You’d be outside if you’d know where he actually is, even in that weather. The impatience is like venom, you wish you wouldn’t have it.

It’s quarter to ten when the key turns. You rush to the front porch to haul in Jimin as he opens, soaking wet and gloomier than ever. He apologizes in a grumpy tone, no eye contact. The heavily kinked umbrella just gets cast in a corner. Jimin later slouches down next to you on the couch with your oversized bathrobe on. 

Downtown he had gotten himself at least some fries and visited the drug store to fill up the fridge in a last effort. Most of the paperboard packages and vegetables got horribly wet and squashed in his backpack because the rain just didn’t want to come down vertically, and Jimin just stuffed them in without care. At least one time you see the value in thick plastic wrappings. You don’t even know if that crumbled mess is still useful in any way, but he thought about everything you’ve written on the grocery list in the kitchen.

Jimin hardly speaks while he’s trying to get his hair dry with a towel, rubbing and chafing it aggressively at the back of his neck. There’s no answer why he took so long and didn’t answer the phone, none. He’s been like that since the doctor proposed the diagnosis this summer. 

You have a hard time telling him that you received the important, long anticipated letter from the clinic today. But you didn’t open it yet. You told yourself that this was something you’d have to do together. It’s hard. His face turns more somber when you mention it but he won’t protest when you bring out the plain envelope. The dismal gleam of the candle barely suffices to read, it flickers too much. 

A darker wall of clouds outside has you pulling out your phone to shed at least a bit of light on the dreaded paper. It’s the result from October’s final check-up. All the numbers and paragraphs are just blurry. As you finished reading, passing over the letter you just say to read it twice. You didn’t get the majority of the words, or perhaps you’re too nervous. Maybe just in disbelief. The only thing you understood was that they charged a whooping lot. Jimin does have to read it twice. He puts it down, the first eye contact follows. 

“You’re okay?”

“I’m… okay?” You don’t know what he means. That you’re fine, or that the diagnosis states you’re fine. Jimin angles the letter to you and points at a bolded part. “It says the result turned out negative. They tested for “infertile, yes or no”, not for “fertile, yes or no”. Infertile — negative. And below,” he points toward the end, “it says we could try it.” You practically rip the letter from his hands. It makes sense now, it really does. There it is. 

 _We can encourage you to carefully commence again around designated week 2 and 3. The first investigations in August merely pointed towards a temporary_  and then more complicated medical terms follow, ending in an explanation how the error just didn’t hold true because of this and that, measures were just approximated, and so on. So it’s true. You are okay. You’d still punch each and every doctor with their fertility potions in the face for all of this. No cure was ever needed, neither was abstinence. Jimin looks hopeful and teary. 

He’s suffered the most the last months because you’ve really wanted to follow through. But he couldn’t help if his life depended on it. It left him immobile at the thought he couldn’t make you happy, and he really admitted to that in September when things got worse. 

Jimin isolated himself more, even if he did spend time with you. He tried to please you in bed in every way you could think of, he pursued all the duties he had around the house. The ideal husband. But at some point, you had just lost faith. Only the last bit of love held you together, a string that could rip any second. Like the pine branches bursting apart outside. 

Giving up was the only thing to do after the final blow despite you having feverishly tried it all. He still couldn’t get it up after everything they said at the screening, with the trauma of your reaction in mind. The way he’s facing you, it seems impossible to erase all denial again, and embrace what’s real. The hug is uneasy, the damned letter forgotten on the floor. “Is it week two” you ask, “it must be.” He sniffles. 

“Around start of three, I don’t know. Fuck it, honestly… They’ve been playing us with that since forever. It should work anytime mid-cycle. We’ll just try, I think it’s possible,” he clears his throat, leaning back from the hug. “It’s not meant to be otherwise. Whatever their instruments say.” You undo the belt of the robe. “So, now?” you test, making sure to sound pulled together even if the letter left you more aggravated than the turmoil in the streets. 

“If you still like me… I’m disappointing. I look weird now, too,” Jimin shifts in his seat, sort of spaced out again. The robe hardly closes at the front. “Fool, I want you,” you get on his lap, moving the towel from his hands to the table. 

“If a bit of water turns you ugly all of a sudden, my taste in men must be horrendous. I’m not blowing up your phone just because. I was worried! And I’m in love with you, that hasn’t changed.” The rain is unstoppable outside, drumming, threatening to hammer in your windows. “I love you, too,” he muses, though overshadowed by the roaring thunder somewhere above Incheon. Perfect day to make a baby. 

“They said we can do it, you should be confident,” you pinch at his tiny nose. He turns as red as the slushy tomatoes from his bag. Clumsy sweetheart, so cute. It makes you horny. “You too,” Jimin cocks up his head, provocative. “Hey, I’ll show you.” The doc can suck your ass, you’ll make this count. 

Jimin’s robe comes off completely. It’s difficult to be gentle even if you know that Jimin longs for a tough grip. There’s something about so many dull weeks that makes you ravage him. Maybe it’s not right to overwhelm him and yourself just now. But the yearning is too strong. He’s so hot with the damp hair. Yes, you want him bad. 

His dick grows sturdier under the fleeting rub of your hand, and wet with warm spit added. Very wet. As does your underwear turning slick with his fuck-me thigh between your legs. It’s. So. Damn. Big. 

You nibble at his chest and shoulders with the prospect of leaving faint marks and gyrate against his leg on repeat like a bolting mustang going berserk. Jimin abides the shake until all friction has spurred and lubricated you enough. It’s not taking long until your panties are gone, and Jimin’s hand slips right in their former place to get you off. 

While he keeps jerking his fingers, you sink down on his shaft and brutalize him with more bites at the neck, not thinking about tomorrow. He’ll have to deal with it. You’re not meek with the thrusts today, either. Soon he jitters at your hips with his hands, trying to mimic the movement. You’re ecstatic. It riles him up. The eternal rain pounds against the window glass like you do against his lap. It’s pitch black outside. “Slap me!” he cries the more you cram him in, “I deserve it. Please!”

Your hand comes down ringing, the echo numbed by the rain. Jimin is left wincing. He begs you drooling to beat him more, harder, the other cheek. Your left is not as strong, so the slap is messy and unpredictable in its impact. But you don’t miss the spot. He’s getting stiffer inside you making the plunge times easier. A third strike and his hips buck up from underneath. Mustang number two has entered to mate, it seems. 

He keeps pleading for more, but after a fourth time, you refuse. Jimin doesn’t need to get his jaw dislocated in a frenzy. Not in this position anyways. He’s digging him a bit too much, that’s when he gets carried away. Instead, both of your hands find a solid grip just below his larynx. His neck is already swollen and pulsating. “I’ll punish you my way,” you put a slight bit of strain on your thumbs, “ready for that?” The following nod is eager, eliciting a greedy look in his eyes. So this is what he likes about confidence. 

Jimin, forever obsessed with your hands. You make sure to press the right spot, loving how his cock throbs while he’s thrashing out with his feet. Oh, it’s been over half a year since Jimin had you choke him out. Missed it bad. He does remember to keep his palms flat against the sofa. No matter what. That’s the silent command that you challenge him to fulfill. His arms don’t move even one bit even if you give his throat a harder, but short squeeze before releasing. 

Jimin sucks his first breath in with his tongue out, veins popped minuscule in the eyes. His palms still stay in place. That’s a reflex control worthy of being a father. Your perfect man. 

There’s not many more thrusts until he catches himself and starts squirming. “Won’t last longer,” he coughs, apologetic. For a first time after such a sexual drought, his stamina isn’t half bad though. Jimin’s actually amazing. You’ll let him know later. Urgent matters first. “Come on, roll over. It has to stay inside of me.” 

Jimin, out of breath, can hardly catch up so you have to position him yourself above you on your back. “I think I’m ready,” he quivers, thrusts abating between your legs spread apart. Indeed he is. You lower him balls deep with your hands on his supple ass, firmly in place. “It’s like my birthday. Lovin’ the gifts.” 

A brisk smack on the left cheek and he’s coming with a little whimper. Finally. It drops inside of you like a small stream of liquid silver, turning gold reaching the spot where you want it. “I’ll make you a baby daddy,” you lock his hips tight with your legs around him, “all mine, mine, mine.” 

There’s no mercy for him now, and no place to go. No hours outside to escape in the rain, sulking and lonely with his depressive thoughts. No friend’s home to spend the night avoidant instead of in the bedroom here, afraid to disappoint, or having to survive your wistful hours ad infinitum. That’s gone now. A bitter summer. There’s always hope for autumn. You’re stealing a kiss and every last thread of semen that he has for you. 

The pressure from your thighs hooks him in the spot with no inch of liberty. A bit more and he’d snap in half like a pair of chopsticks. The ceiling lamp flashes up, blinding and bright against the bedlam outline of his locks. Fucking electricity’s back. You can feel the last bits of sperm trickle down inside to breed you, but won’t let him go just yet. 

“I’m yours, mommy,” Jimin last exhales struggling. He falls down into your arms closing around him stalwart like a cage. It feels like the only pressure left on him. What you see on his face is no more heavy gloom and doom.  

The thunder continues haunting Seoul, but it doesn’t matter. This is your dream come true. You let him pull out when a tired strain replaces the strength in your legs, and he kneels. Everything that has spilled over he proceeds to sip and lap up obediently, it’s good for his skin. Unlike what’s pending flaccid between his thighs, Jimin’s tongue won’t get worn-out all too early, carrying you through a nascent high and bringing you down again. 

The curve of his lips swipes gently up and down your labia, picking up the chaos of his and your cum, dips it back in with his ruby tongue when you finished your orgasm. He’s lost the tension in his brow, his eyes are peaceful. A last charming nip at your clit and he retreats, replacing his mouth with the massage of two fingers. 

Before the overstimulation comes, you guide his wrists toward your breasts to go on there. You’ll drag him under the shower later, to draw out the relaxation deeply needed. Tomorrow you’ll try right again after going to the festival, to mingle with the dragon spectacle for good luck with your baby daddy. 

“That’s for sweet milk hm,” you fondle at his glowing cheeks, “we made it, Jiminie.” - “Sorry that it took so long since then. Are you happy?” - “I’m very happy. And our child will be so beautiful,” you brush a finger against his lashes. Albeit exhausted, he’s cheerful under the touch. “Then, I’m happy, too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I am [submissive-bangtan](https://submissive-bangtan.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


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